Kiss Your God
by CommanderLavellan
Summary: A dare goes horrible wrong - or horrible right? Crack fic - one-shot. AU – Modern mixed with DA lore and such. OOC Characters. Lavellan/Fen'Harel


**Kiss Your God**

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**ADD NOTE: This is a crack-fic. AU – Modern mixed with DA lore and such. Some things in this story, I don't think, can be done with magic – but that's how I wrote it and it shall stay JUST LIKE THAT. OOC characters. Idea for said fic brought to you by my friend who created a shirt that said "kiss your paragon" (he made the shirt with one of those online shirt making places) and I got the idea of this. "Kiss Your God" I hope you all enjoy and kudo's, fav, review, comment, and like this one-shot c:**

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Like any normal, rational person, he had no problem with what another individual decided to do with their apparel. He cared about himself too much for that. If they wished to flaunt, so be it. If they wished to shield themselves in oppressive layers, whatever. In short, he simply _did not care_. What it boiled down to was the fact that Fen'Harel had better things to do than complain or even care about what anyone else was wearing. Or doing. Or thinking.

If they irritated him, he'd just walk away or push them out of the way with his magic...and maybe he'd take an additional, very playful swat to really _emphasize_ his sentiments. Perhaps that was why he was starting to worry. To care. Something was up, but it was sneaky, cleverly intended to not infuriate him until it was too late.

Fen'Harel glanced at Hawke. He was whistling as they walked along the colorful, cobbled streets of Kirkwall in a disturbingly nonchalant manner. A falsely nonchalant manner. Being Hawke's friend, Fen'Harel could tell.

There was something strange in the air, heavy with foreshadow and danger. Not the kind of danger with fighting crazed darkspawn or rouge templars. Playful fun, the kind that would get them locked up in The Gallows by Cullen again. This was something intangible. Bizarre. He could not for the life of him interpret the significance of the danger that lurked but he knew very surely that it was dangerous. Perhaps even to a lethal degree.

_Cullen's wrath, here we come. _Fen'Harel cheered sarcastically in his head.

Fen'Harel quickened his steps a little and was startled when Hawke sped up a little, keeping ahead of Fen'Harel and a foot or two to his right.

"Hawke." Something was definitely up. What had the little punk _done_?

"What?" Hawke spoke without turning around to look at him. His voice was about an octave too high and very guilty sounding. Was there an undercurrent of hilarity? Hawke snickered, then.

"What have you done?" People, specifically female elves with a few humans, were beginning to congregate to the sides of the streets. Occasionally someone whistled in a rather suggestive manner.

Fen'Harel's unamused and dull eyes darted back and forth, "_Hawke_."

Hawke didn't respond, but kept on walking, still whistling tunefully. His arms were crossed over his head, his hands resting against the back of his head. It would have looked like a relaxed and confident posture to an outsider, but to Fen'Harel it looked like he was displaying something on his shirt. The center of the mystery: that blasted shirt. The jacket that Hawke had been wearing had been removed once he walked ahead of Fen'Harel, now he knew why.

In a flash he was in front of Hawke, his hands fisted in his shirt. Hawke stopped whistling, his grin began to spread almost to his ears as Fen'Harel gaped at his shirt.

Vaguely, Fen'Harel decided that he may actually care very much about what people wore, where they wore it, and when. It was awful. It was politically incorrect. It was ghastly. Fen'Harel knew he was in deep shit when he saw Hawke wearing a shirt which had "Kiss Your God" written in hot pink with a large, equally pink arrow pointing to Hawke's left...exactly where Fen'Harel had been walking.

They weren't even in the right city for such a shirt. Fen'Harel _was _a God but not to these shem. Few elves lived_ in _Kirkwall, most lived on the outskirts, the alienage or darktown.

The women lining the streets, both elf and human, didn't seem to care. He suddenly realized that they were all whispering and giggling. And slowly closing in. It was very, very hush-hush but it was happening.

He. Had. To. **Run**.

A ring of women had now formed around Fen'Harel and Hawke. His mouth hung open, "Ugn…"

The giggles turned into rapacious fan girl screams as they lunged forward, claws grasping. Living up to his vengeful reputation, Fen'Harel conveyed his sentiments to Hawke by promptly abandoning him to the grasping crowds, launching himself high into the air using his magic and landing on a rooftop. Hawke's screaming was almost drowned out but the shrieks of the women all over him. Almost.

Fen'Harel took off as fast as he could across the rooftops of Kirkwall, angry yet terrified. He despised the idea of them touching him and not because he thought of himself as better, he didn't. He just hated being the butt of a joke gone wrong. _God, seriously?_

A flash of white on a distant roof top made him speed up. Perhaps he could hide out with Lavellan for a bit. Fen'Harel landed lightly on Lavellan's roof, despite the speed he was going to get here. He announced his presence by clearing his throat discretely.

Startled, she stood up suddenly and cracked her head on the swinging window hatch that opened into her apartment. He glanced pointedly at the door on the roof before looking at the opened hatch that she'd been slipping into. She was crouched over, hissing and rubbing at her skull where the hatch had come down on her head.

He waited patiently until she was through with her hissing.

"Thanks a lot, dickwaffle. I really needed that cherry on the cake." Fen'Harel and Lavellan were semi-friends, courtesy of Hawke and Varric. In their own caustic, acrimonious, sarcasm-filled way they got along, but they were initially acquainted through the two men. He shrugged. It wasn't his fault that her reflexes were so poor.

He eyed the door on the roof again. "Why were you sneaking through _that_?" Fen'Harel pointed at the sunroof hatch.

"I wasn't sneaking."

"Nefariously lurking?"

"No." She sniffed irritably. He stared at her impassively.

A blush crawled at her face the longer he stared and finally she burst. "Fine, ass! I lost my house keys…All of them."

Fen'Harel started, was it really possible to lose _all _of one's house keys, even the _spares_?

Presuming that he was invited, Fen'Harel followed her as she once more opened the hatch, this time dropping inside her apartment. He followed her as she sighed and wandered into the kitchen. He was no stranger to her apartment. He'd been many times with Hawke and Varric – both for hiding out and partying while Lavellan was working. He comfortably found a seat at the table in her kitchen while she got a glass of water out of the tap and guzzled at it greedily. It was hot outside and even Fen'Harel felt better being in the air conditioning. Lavellan must have been miserable.

Finished with her water she sat on her counter Indian-style, "You really want to know, don't you?"

He waited patiently, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair.

"I lost a bet." Pink once more spread across her cheeks.

"What?" Had she really said that she had lost a bet? She was almost as good as Varric when it came to betting.

"I'm so humiliated. I was so sure I would win. _So sure_." She scrubbed at her face with her hands.

"What was the bet?"

"Nothing." Her eyes skittered nervously over his head, not focusing on him, to paste themselves on the wall.

He did it again. His silent goading. It was a magic charm. She wiggled uncomfortably for five minutes before she gave up.

"Pants," She put her face in her hands, making a disgusted noise "Pants Cullen."

Fen'Harel mouth unwillingly fell open and he lurched out of his chair, a little furious with her for her foolishness, the bet itself and the stakes of the bet. She was his friend after all. "So you no longer have keys to your own home because you didn't 'pants' someone."

"Well, it was either that or-" She snapped her mouth shut with a loud click. He was already resolved to go get her house keys for her once he prodded her into telling him who she'd made the bet with, him being a _gentleman_ and the _chivalrous_ person that he was but this information pulled him up short.

"Or?"

She shook her head violently, her hair swirling about her head, blue eyes wide. Fen'Harel came toward her until his face was a foot from her own.

"_Or_?" He bent forwards so that their faces were level.

"I'm not telling you. _Never_." She was adamant. Set in stone. What sort of bet was so awful, so humiliating that she wouldn't tell him? He felt his anger rise. Fen'Harel was definitely going to hunt down whoever she bet with.

"_**Or**_?"

"_No_, Fen'Harel. I'm not telling you. I respect the individual too much to humiliate them with a bet like that." The pink on her cheeks was beginning to spread.

"What was the bet, Lavellan?" He moved even closer.

"Fuck you. No way."

He reached out, hesitantly putting a hand on her shoulder. His eyes searching hers. "Who'd you bet with, then?"

Startled and caught unawares by the hand on her shoulder she spluttered and slipped up, "Haw-...No one." She grit her teeth. It was too bad she'd slipped up. Now he was off to kill an old friend. In a flurry of magic he disappeared to go hunt to down Hawke.

Hawke was where he left him. He was sprawled in the street, semi-unconscious with the occasional twitch and spasm. His face was covered in lipstick and it looked like the women had cut off pieces of his clothing to keep as souvenirs. Fen'Harel walked over to Hawke and nudged him with his foot.

"Hawke."

"Nguhh."

"_Hawke_."

"Sh...Uhhhh..." Hawke breathed out, his voice hitched.

"_**Hawke**_." Fen'Harel nudged him in the ribs with his foot.

Blearily, Hawke opened his eyes, "Hmm...What?"

"You made a bet with Lavellan."

Hawke sighed, a pained expression on his face. Slowly he sat up, "You talked with Lavellan."

"Yes." Fen'Harel recalled the way Lavellan had looked perched on her kitchen counter, humiliated and exhausted, her cheeks flushed pink. Her blue eyes glassy, and her white hair sweaty and wind blown. She really was quite pretty.

Fen'Harel shook his head. "You made a bet with her. You took her keys."

Hawke grinned, rubbing the back of his head, "Fuck, yeah! Pants Cullen! It was sweet, watching his face. I don't even _care_ that she didn't succeed. The look on his face, the _shock_! Oh, so priceless...I wish I had a camera. Who knew templar armor came off so easily?" The absolute glee on his face was disconcerting.

_How old are you?_ Fen'Harel shook his head and sighed, "There was another bet. The alternative?"

"Ah," Hawke rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes wide and his smile melting like ice cream in the sun. "I...uhhh...What bet?" His eyes shifted from Fen'Harel's face to his right shoulder.

"Lavellan told me about it. What kind of-"

"She told you? Oh, man. Oh, fuck. Oh, _Maker_. You're here to kill me aren't you? Just be gentle!" Hawke cried, "I want to look good when I see the Makers bosom."

Fen'Harel's raised an eyebrow. Apparently the bet had to do with him. According to a great scholar, there was a certain interrelatedness to everything. Fen'Harel was starting to connect the dots.

"She refused, though! She didn't know how you felt so she took the other dare! It was only a joke! A little physical contact wouldn't hurt you!" Fen'Harel eyed Hawke's bruises. Physical contact? A fight? Train with Lavellan? They were mages, the most damage they would do is burn each other. It sounded…fun and interesting, to be honest. He didn't explore his thoughts further. The way Hawke was cringing, though, suggested that Fen'Harel _should_ be pummeling Hawke for some reason yet unknown. Why was it so bad if he trained with her? Fen'Harel hated being the chastising adult.

"Give me the keys," He held out his hand, "Now, Hawke."

He'd return them to Lavellan. He was getting hungry for some lunch...he wondered if Lavellan was, too? Hawke sighed and fumbled around in his pockets.

"If I'd known that she'd be so persnickety about giving you a bloody _kiss_ I would never have asked," He dropped the keys into Fen'Harel's frozen hand, "So I had to come up with the whole scheme for this morning. It was pretty sweet though. Artistic. Perfection. That, my friend, was a master prank. Fen'Harel? Fen...Harel? _Fennie_..?"

For a second Fen'Harel was very confused. Training was not the same as kissing. But what did that mean? The dots connected one by one. She'd said that she'd respected him too much to do that to him? Thoughts started to run rampant, the clamp on the lid of their container destroyed with Hawke's words.

Would he mind?

Would he_ really_ mind?

She was quite pretty.

No, she was beautiful – gorgeous. She was nice. She was his friend. The level that they connected on mentally was disconcertingly interesting. She had always interested him. He'd never been interested in the screaming fan girls and it now occurred to him that there was a very obvious reason why.

Fen'Harel quickly disappeared in a flurry of snow – fade stepping back to Lavellan's apartment. Hawke was left staring at empty air.

"Fen'Harel?" Hawke sat in the middle of the street, all alone once more.

Fen'Harel jumped on top of Lavellan's roof and _literally_ dropped in. He felt very calm. She had been worried about him. She'd refused the dare because she cared about his reaction.

"Lavellan?"

"You're back?" She stick her head out from the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen and sat where he had been sitting earlier. She smiled, "I just made some coffee. Want some?"

Her demeanor was friendly, she gleaned but cautious, like she was hiding something. He couldn't believe that he'd never noticed before and it wasn't just the bet that she was still trying to hide. There was respect, kindness, and an expression of same-level-ness in her gaze that he had, he realized, carefully not noticed before. They were equals; she didn't fear his _godly wrath_ and she didn't look down on him either.

She _cared_. She didn't want to harm him or scare him.

"Sure, yeah. I'll have some."

She poured him a cup and carried her mug and his own over to the table and sat down across from him.

The interesting thing was the fact that she had no idea what was going on in his head. He felt very predator-like. She reached across the table to hand him his mug and he accepted it, his fingers brushing against hers. Now he could see it. That small, minute blush. She covered it up with a sarcastic remark, "Nice sunburn you're cultivating there."

"Same goes for you," He replied, a smirk of his own on his lips. If one could call a blush a sunburn.

She scowled at him, "Well, fortunately some of us can pull off a sunburn with dignity."

"I agree completely. I _am_ quite skilled at it," He loved fanning her fire-hot anger. He took a sip of coffee, seeing her lip curl.

"_Dick_, I was talking about me."

"Oops, my mistake." He smirked and shifted their conversation, "You know the bet you made with Hawke?"

Her face darkened and her eyes flashed. She looked cagey.

"I know a way you can win your keys back."

Her face brightened though she maintained her sarcastic façade. "Let me guess, kill shem children with razor sharp sporks?"

He pretended to look surprised, "How did you guess?"

"You...You serious?" Lavellan looked shocked and scared, causing Fen'Harel to laugh.

"No, there's another way." Fen'Harel reassured her.

"Really?" She pretended to look bored though her eyes flashed with interest. He could see it in her eyes. The way she anticipated his plan for Cullen's garments. He took a sip of his coffee. Oh _y__es_, he had a plan.

"Well, are you going to tell me or not, _oh clever one_?"

"Finish your coffee first."

Snarling in an unladylike manner, that he decided he kind of liked, she tossed back her coffe and finished it off in a few large gulps.

"Tell me." She panted, setting the mug down.

Fen'Harel sighed and stood up. She remained seated, staring up at him. "Are you leaving? What's the plan?" She had no idea how ridiculous she looked, asking what the plan was for 'pantsing' a thrity-five year old Templar Commander. Only Hawke could cause something like this. He leaned against the counter.

Annoyed, she stood up. "Fen'Harel."

He liked that way it sounded when she said his name.

"_Fen'Harel_."

She was directly in front of him. It was now or never. Fen'Harel was a strong advocate of the Now Policy.

"_**Fen'Har**_-" Suddenly he caught her in his arms, pressing his lips against hers, her body pressed tightly against him. He felt like he'd suddenly caught on fire. She smelled so good. She tasted so good. Finally, lingeringly, he withdrew. His hand finding his pocket, searching for her keys.

Her ocean blue eyes were locked on his, her breath short and her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink.

"Fen'Harel?" She was surprised but she pretended to be nonchalant, untouched. Though the way her voice shook betrayed her. His hand found her keys.

"What was…Fen'Harel."

It was too much. The way she said his name was too much. His lips found hers again, one hand fisted in her hair, the other wrapped low around her waist. She felt small when she was in his arms. Slowly her hands traveled up his chest and wound themselves in his hair. He slipped her keys into her pocket.

Finally he pulled back, the hand that was in her hair falling to her waist, "You've won your keys back, now." It was probably the only excuse he'd ever get to kiss her. He made a mental note to talk to Hawke later about these sorts of dares and how…_frequent_ they should be.

Lavellan gaped at him. "You...You found out? But…But I thought you'd hate…You don't like…"

She floundered, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Fen'Harel sighed and began to pull her towards him again. It would be better if he proved that he didn't mind at all and it seemed that he would need to do lots of..._persuading_.


End file.
